The kitchen was a small room. Ezril settled into it easily, lighting a candle to give him light. After that, he went about his task. He moved through it with an adeptness born of having spent too much time in it. He reached for the closet where Teneri kept the chocolate beans and took out the container that housed them. He placed it on a counter and moved on to his next task. In a low cupboard he needed to jimmy a little to get open, he pulled out two containers of sugar. In one of them, the sugar was cubed, in the other it was granulated.
He held them up, musing on which one he wanted. His decision came easily, perhaps logically. He was too lazy to boil a cup of water for the drink and knew he would have no motivation to go through the stress of crushing the cubes of sugar in cold water. With his decision made, he returned the container with the cubes and closed the cupboard. The cupboard door hung slightly ajar, refusing to close and he frowned at it.
Old man Nakani had promised to stop by and fix the cupboard, and Ezril knew he was the only one who would be mindful enough to keep the man reminded.
Who’s going to take care of her when I’m gone? He wondered as he realigned the door and closed it.
As the priest, Urden, had said, boys his age knew what it meant when they found a priest waiting at their homes. In Alduin, when a priest came knocking, the family knew there was a chance one of their children was going to be gone from home.
In Dorni’s opinion, it was a form of consensual kidnapping. The priest tested the sons of the household between the ages of ten and fourteen. If they found any of them displaying the necessary traits that showed the potential of being a Hallowed, they took them to the seminary.
As for the parents, their acceptance of this was not a choice. It was the law of the Credo. Truth only blessed Vayla with the Hallowed so that they could protect her from the curse of the Tainted and the Scorned. There were stories of the Broken as well, myths and rumors lost in history. They were creatures with twisted souls, lifeless yet moving. Everyone agreed that they were too abominable to be true, even if the stories claimed they were the real reason the priests of Truth came to be. Regardless, refusing a priest was rejecting the Credo, and rejecting the Credo was heresy.
If the priests did not come after the heretic, then someone would. Heretics might as well be outlaws and such was their fate. The death of a declared heretic in any manner and for any reason was unquestioned.
Being a priest of Truth wasn’t the only reason priests were feared. They were feared first for being Hallowed before being priests. And the already existent hatred for the Hallowed guaranteed that there was a chance a hated Hallowed would one day be a feared priest. There was always a chance that the priest a person met now might’ve once been a child rejected or offended.
Ezril opened a large barrel in the kitchen and borrowed a cup from one of the cabinets. At ten, he was too short to reach the top cabinets where Teneri kept the finer cups of ceramic so he continued to settle for the cups in the low cabinets bought specifically for his use. With one of those cups, he scooped a portion of water from the open container before closing it.
He took the cup to the only table in the kitchen where he had arranged the container of chocolate beans and sugar and spoon and placed it beside them. He took two spoons of the chocolate and poured each into the empty cup. Reaching for the cover of the container, he paused. Teneri had always insisted he take two spoons and no more.
But she’s not here to watch, he said, adding a third spoon. He was about taking a fourth when a voice stopped him.
“One more spoon and I’ll tan your hide before sending you off with Urden,” Teneri said from the other room. Her voice was casual but her warning was clear.
Ezril looked through the door and, sure as the night was dark, he could not see her. Thus, she could not see him. At least that was supposed to be the way it worked.
How does she do that? He wondered, covering the container and pushing it aside to reach for the sugar.
He put only a spoonful of sugar before sealing its container. His mind continued to wonder at Teneri’s ability to tell what he was doing in the house. He wondered if it was a thing with adults, if at a certain age they simply understood what went on in their homes.
Then again, Urden had told her to put her nin away. It was the life force with which the few people who had it could work magic. The Hallowed had it and some people not Hallowed were often known to sometimes awaken to it, even if at too late a stage. It would not be enough to give them the body and the strength of the Hallowed, but it was enough to let them live longer than normal and, often times, display strengths above what they normally would.
The phrase of putting away one’s nin was also used when someone was angry. It was a phrase that insinuated putting one’s anger away. So Ezril couldn’t be so sure Teneri had nin to begin with. Apart from being a bit too active for her age, she displayed nothing out of the ordinary. Still…
Ezril frowned. There were a few things she’d done in the past that had not been so ordinary. Sometimes she finished tasks too quickly. Sometimes she caught a falling plate too fast. At her age he had never seen her sick, not even when there had been a flu going through the city.
But the Hallowed didn’t age so horribly. If most of them weren’t usually playing the role of soldier and getting killed by the Scorned and the Tainted, stories claimed they could live as long as two hundred years and wouldn’t look it. There were even a few children’s tales that claimed the Hallowed could intentional return to Truth. In the stories they walked through the air and simply vanished. But those were stories.
Suffice to say, aunt Teneri couldn’t be Hallowed. She was seventy-two and looked the part.
Ezril cast his thoughts aside . He poured water into his cup and turned his beverage of chocolate beans and sugar. He dreamed of the beautiful taste of hot chocolate milk as he did and knew he would not be getting it tonight. For that he needed milk and they’d run out of milk a good while ago. He was also too lazy to boil the water he would need. So he settled for what he had.
The loaf of bread Teneri had spoken of was exactly where she’d said it would be, and Ezril claimed half of it.
In only a moment, he was seated at the table with a cup of his beverage and half a loaf of bread. When he’d met with Alphons and the others in the morning, he’d taken something to eat with him and they’d finished it all before beginning their adventures. Their plays and activities had spanned the entire day, spent running about the underbelly, stealing away into places they weren’t supposed to go. As was always the case when he hung out with them, food had become a forgotten subject.
Ezril hadn’t even realized just how hungry he had been until he’d stepped into the kitchen.
As he ate, his mind cast back into the past. He was a child as true as it could be said, but he was no infant. Urden’s appearance made it certain he would be leaving Green Horn behind. The acceptance made him think. He thought of the children who no longer played with him after the debacle of a few years back. He thought of Alphons and Dorni and Fren. He would miss them, if only a little. Lenaria snuck into his mind, reminding him of how she was the only one from those he knew in the underbelly who ever ventured close to his home.
She would’ve loved this, he thought, holding up a piece of bread to the candle light. Lenaria was just that way, as long as it was edible and could satiate hunger, she loved it. Most times she would sneak up to his bedroom window and wait for him to bring her whatever was left of his meals. It always baffled him that she was more than willing to make the journey to his home from the underbelly but always chose to collect her food in secret.
He’d asked once and she’d given him silence in reply. The second time he’d ever thought to ask, her silence had come with discomfort. It was all he needed to know to keep his curiosity to himself. He simply assumed she didn’t want the world to think she was imposing, sharing his meal with him.
She hadn’t needed to worry, Ezril thought, dipping a piece of bread in his beverage before eating it.
The truth was that he always suspected aunt Teneri had known. After all, not long after he’d started sneaking Lenaria parts of his meals his portions began to increase until it was practically too much for him to finish. Sometimes it was enough for two people.
Ezril had never brought it up with Teneri for fear of being wrong. It was always possible she’d only increased his portions because she had wanted him to grow big and strong. Asking questions would’ve led to more questions, and he wasn’t entirely sure of what reaction Teneri would have to Lenaria’s presence.
Teneri and Urden conversed long into the night, talking about things Ezril was either too young to understand or too stupid to comprehend. For Ezril, he liked to think it was the former not the latter. He’d spent way too much time in the underbelly to think himself stupid. He had met people, learnt things and survived situations, some of which had done him more harm than good. They had finally led up to the events that had given birth to the questionable looks the children of Green Horn had for him.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Ezril discarded his thoughts once more as he finished his meal. With a child’s curiosity he ventured as close to the kitchen’s exit as he could, hoping to catch snatches of aunt Teneri’s conversations with the priest. To his surprise, he caught none. He was aware of the conversation, knew people were talking. He could hear the sounds, note the words, follow the lexicon.
But he understood nothing.
Oddly enough, the knowledge left him as easily as it came. The words were eels caught in the water with hands lubricated by oils. Each word was an existence of its own, a living macrocosm with no microcosm. Listening was like telling a lie; countless words with false information. In this case, the lie gave no information.
Determined not to be a fool, Ezril stayed a little longer, listening to adults talk and people laugh. Eventually, he was left with a headache and no other option than to sit in the kitchen and wait until he was called for.
So he did so. He sat, knowing that interrupting the adults’ conversation for any reason was not his place. Besides, his inability to hear had been unnatural. The presence of a priest made it possible the use of nin had played a part in it. Everyone knew anything was possible with nin. It was why the Tainted were easily corrupted by it. The outcomes created by using nin was called magic. It was grand and beautiful, but it was mostly deadly. The little Ezril knew claimed that it was addictive. Especially when a person used Vayla’s nin. Thus, the Hallowed used the nin that existed within them when they awakened. It was less addictive and did Vayla no harm. The Tainted, however, connected to Vayla’s nin and used that for their magic. It was how they continued to kill her. It was why they needed to be stopped.
Ezril attributed his inability to understand aunt Teneri’s conversation with the priest to magic. There was a great chance the priest had done something. So he sat and did nothing.
He stared at the meager candle light illuminating the room from its place on the table. It was a pretty sight to behold but nothing new. He’d stared at fire countless times, times too many to care much for it now. Still, he stared. He watched the flame undulate to the nonexistent breeze in the kitchen. In time, he wondered—not for the first time—what it would feel like.
Will it be painful? Will it eat away at my soul and chill me to the bones? His shoulder blades itched as he thought these thoughts and he fought the urge to scratch at it. The task was already difficult enough as it was without having to think things that made it worse.
Will it be better or worse than what Aria and I saw?
Ezril pulled his mind from his pondering, casting himself back to the present. He took his mind off the thoughts that sought to drown him in past memories better left forgotten.
In a bid to distract himself, he turned his thoughts towards priests and what he knew of them. His knowledge was discordant and disagreeable. Such was to be expected when it came from opposing sources. The civil and genteel indigenes of the city claimed priests were Truth’s gift to Alduin. They were the Hallowed who understood that they were for Truth and belonged to Truth. The sisters of the church of Truth called them His wrath against those that would taint Vayla. They were designed to protect her and Truth’s children.
Those from the underbelly, however, people who paid no mind to the words of the church or the politeness of civility, called them abominations. They called them broken men, Hallowed that had failed to garner a mind of their own. To the underbelly, the priests were worthy of fear but not for the reasons the church and the Credo claimed. They were worthy of fear because they were soaked in blood and pain, raised as human abominations for the sole purpose of killing. A priest was a Hallowed designed to bring death and disaster, and such things ate away at a man’s soul until there was nothing left.
This, they believed, was the reason priests were worthy of the fear they invoked. Perhaps they were right, and perhaps it was the reason they were referred to as ‘sacrifices of Truth.’ To be a sacrifice, something had to be sacrificed, after all. Perhaps their soul was their sacrifice.
From the brief conversation Ezril had experienced between Urden and Teneri, he found it hard to believe. Urden didn’t seem soulless or heartless. He didn’t seem like the kind of man the underbelly or the church described priests as. If anything, he seemed normal, save the part when he’d broken the handle of their door with a simple push—certainly nothing unnatural for a Hallowed.
Another thing I have to remind Nakani about, Ezril thought as he remembered the now broken door.
His worry for who would care for aunt Teneri when he was gone gnawed at him more.
The night proceeded in the same way. Urden and Teneri continued their conversation like old friends who hadn’t seen in eternity and Ezril was unaware of when sleep claimed him.
It took him in the kitchen, and when he woke, it was morning. He woke to find that he had drooled all over the kitchen table. The candle that had given light once had since burned itself out of life somewhere in the middle of the night. Ezril had also certainly missed the passing of the king’s guard—not that he had been terribly eager to experience it.
The rest of the morning was quick and hurried.
Teneri rushed him through the morning activities when he woke. He did none of the chores as was his usual duty. He did not tidy the kitchen or wash any plates. He did not sweep or clean or dust. His room was left an untidy mess and Teneri’s reaction to it was naught but a sigh and a wary smile.
Ezril was a child but he could see Teneri was already missing him. In what was left of his child-like innocence, he wanted so desperately to assure her that he would be fine, that he would come back to her, but her words last night left the endeavor impossible. She had all but promised him that she would pass soon. And for all his need to give false hope, there was no one alive who didn’t know that when children were taken to the seminary, they no longer belonged to their family. They belonged to Truth and the Credo. They also didn’t come out to the world until they were grown. Thus, he had no lie to give.
It was a difficult thing to accept that a family member was dead even before they were dead. It was a sad thing to stand before someone loved and know that they would never be seen again.
When Ezril was dressed and ready for his journey, the house was tidy and clean. He had questions on how it had happened since he knew Teneri had waited for him in his room, tidying it all the while.
His questions were answered before he had the chance to ask them as Urden slipped the last of the dirty dishes into the basket the clean dishes were kept in. They were dirty no more. The priest, in his cassock, had washed and dried them. No doubt the man had cleaned the house, too.
Ezril didn’t know if Urden was giving priests a good name with his actions or a bad one.
“I am not so old that I cannot do my own chores,” Teneri said with a scowl as she moved Ezril to the suddenly fixed door.
“And I am not so old that I cannot help,” Urden replied.
Ezril stared at it in his simple clothes. It turned out priests could also be carpenters. He didn’t know if to laugh at the idea or be terrified at the versatility.
Standing outside, Ezril found himself awkwardly silent. He had never truly said goodbyes to anyone and he knew aunt Teneri wasn’t one for goodbyes or hellos. Even when he left the house every morning and came home every night, her reaction had always been nonexistent. Each time she acted as if he had always been around, merely hidden away in his room somewhere.
He had somehow grown to accept this as normal. He hadn’t known his parents and hadn’t felt the weight of a goodbye to them. The friends he’d made in the underbelly were few and simple. Lenaria had informed them of an adult’s interest in her and they’d even gotten to meet the man once before she’d left. He’d been kind and seemed to care much for her. Unfortunately, when she left with him, it was abrupt and sudden. One day she was around and the next day they had nothing but a note to tell of her departure. For her, there had also been no goodbyes.
Ezril had had another friend before Lenaria, a friend who had introduced him to the underbelly and the people within it. His name had been Tolin. Unfortunately, Ezril had only known the boy for two years before he’d died. It had been unfortunate but not an uncommon happening in the underbelly. Still, Tolin had been the closest thing Ezril had had to an older brother, even if for only a little while.
It reminded him that as free as the underbelly was, it was just as deadly.
Often times Ezril wondered why Teneri had never questioned his whereabouts when such a dangerous place existed. As long as he did his chores before leaving the house and was home by curfew, she was fine with it.
Now faced with a real goodbye and the weight of knowing he might never see her again, Ezril was left mute and confused. So he stood awkwardly, teetering on the soles of his feet at the door. It would likely be the last time he would see his home or aunt Teneri, yet there were no words with which to say his goodbyes.
Behind him, Urden stood, still as a mountain and silent as the night. The day was still dark but first light wasn’t so far away. Ezril, for reasons best known to him, didn’t want to be caught leaving with a priest. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn away just as he couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye as he stared up at Teneri.
In the end, Urden was the one to break the awkward silence.
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” he asked Teneri. “You and I know it’s not often we get the chance.”
Teneri’s wrinkled face squeezed in discomfort. Ezril had seen all her frowns and they all looked the same. Even this one. They all looked like she’d stepped on something painful but didn’t want anyone to know.
With an awkward shrug, Teneri raised an old hand and placed it on Ezril’s raven hair. Ezril was surprise to feel it trembling.
“Listen to Urden,” she said, her voice slow, almost sorrowful. “Once you are out of here, he will be a very different man from the one you’ve met, but it’s not his fault. That is simply the way he is.”
Behind Ezril, Urden did not contest her words.
“Listen to the priests,” Teneri went on, “but not to everything they say. They will teach you well. But you must understand that adults, be they Hallowed or Tainted, are not always right. No matter how confident we may seem, we don’t know it all. So learn to think for yourself and like yourself, even as you learn to think like them.”
Her voice cracked and her words ceased.
Ezril had a feeling she had more to say but nothing else came. Her hand, however, did not leave his head. It remained there as though that was where it was destined to be. It made Ezril almost smile. However, tears rolled down his eyes and he fought back a sniffle. Teneri wasn’t one for plenty words, and while she was kind and took care of him, she wasn’t overly affectionate.
Her words, as simple and straightforward as they were, were her show of affection. If she could do it, Ezril knew he could, too. So he slipped out from under her hand and hugged her. He pressed his face into her and breathed her in. She smelled of soap and summer’s breeze. He liked it.
“Good bye, mom,” he whispered too low for her to hear.
In her many mysteries, Teneri heard him
“Goodbye, my child,” she said quietly.
Teneri let him hold her for a while longer before returning his hug. They remained that way, Teneri breathing easily and Ezril finally sobbing like the child he was until the same person who’d served as the catalyst to their goodbyes served as the end to it.
“As touching as all this is, Teneri,” Urden said. “We have to go. I still need to sign his papers at the gate and have him properly registered.”
Registered? Ezril wondered at the word. However, Teneri’s response shook him more than Urden’s words.
“How does it feel to finally be a father?” she asked Urden with a chuckle.
“It’s just under the law,” Urden said, his frown evident in his voice.
Ezril had only confusion left in him.
Father?